


Simulacra

by carmenta



Category: Coldfire - Friedman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-01
Updated: 2005-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt to explain just how Gerald Tarrant managed to talk Andrys into going along with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simulacra

Andrys slammed the door shut as soon as the Hunter's companion had stepped through it. He could hear the metal snap of a lock, assuring him that he no longer had to fear someone coming at him from behind. In the back of his mind a little voice wondered why the Hunter had sent the other man away, whether that wasn't just to gather whatever reinforcements still lingered in the depths of the keep. But something told him that even if there were a rescue attempt, nobody would be able to open this door from the outside.

No, in here it was only Andrys and the Hunter. And Andrys was the one holding a springbolt. It was a reassuring weight in his hands, a reminder that he was the one in control.

The Hunter was watching him, and the effort to meet those silver eyes almost made Andrys shiver. He'd dreaded this moment, almost as much as he had wished for it to come. The Hunter at his mercy, their roles reversed. All he had to do now was shoot and the world would be free of this monster, just like he himself would be free of the memories.

Just shoot…

The Hunter was still watching him, so calmly that Andrys' hand began to shake, and with it the springbolt. Not enough to foul his aim, not at this distance, but it added to his nervousness and he took a step backwards, almost loosing his balance when he stepped on a thick stack of papers. The Hunter glanced downwards at the scattered sheets and Andrys thought he saw a flicker of distaste rush across his face.

"You do not have to do this, Mer Tarrant," the Hunter said. "There are more solutions to this than destroying us both."

"I swore I'd kill the Hunter! That I'd kill you!"

"The Hunter died two days ago. You must have felt his passing." Gerald Tarrant paused for a moment. "Maybe only yesterday," he amended. He sounded calm, as though Andrys' vows did not concern him in the least. But Andrys was too caught up in his own thoughts to pay much attention to that.

Yesterday. When the link between the Hunter and the Forest had broken. When the Forest had tried to swallow him. Andrys barely suppressed a shiver when he realized what this implied.

"Yesterday at sunrise," he said, not really aware of it. His mind was still trying to fit this new piece of information into place. He had felt the connection between the Hunter and the Forest break, and he'd felt the pull when the Forest had searched for a new focal point. It hadn't gone back to the Hunter, even though the man was still alive. It had chosen Andrys instead.

The Forest was not intelligent, but it had instincts. And those would prompt it to take the easiest way, to choose what was best suited to its needs and its habits.

Andrys had been more familiar to it than the Hunter.

He fought to push the implications of that out of his mind, and focused again on the man who was watching him from across the desk, eyes narrowed.

"You resisted the Forest," the Hunter whispered. "The currents should have drowned you when my link to the Forest broke. My wards know you, so the fae must know you as well."

There was a glint of interest in the silver eyes studying him, and Andrys could tell that the Hunter was reconsidering him. Re-evaluating him. He wished he did not feel that hint of curiosity about the result. This wasn't the moment to wonder about that, not when he finally had his nemesis where he had wanted him to be. He had wanted the Hunter at his mercy, to make him feel all the pain he had caused Andrys. Helpless, desperate, stripped of pride and arrogance, just like Calesta had shown him in dreams.

Calesta.

_He was my enemy long before you were involved_.

Deep down Andrys had been aware that Calesta had never given him a real reason why the demon wanted the Hunter dead. The answers had been satisfying at the time, tempting enough to keep him from asking more. In a way he had wanted to believe that all Calesta wanted was to help him, because it felt so infinitely good to know that someone was on his side, that someone was trying to make his hurts go away. But it had all been an illusion, he knew that now. He had known it when Calesta had turned from suggestive to commanding, he had just chosen not to think about it. But Andrys could not deny that he had been a tool.

And the Hunter wanted him to dwell on that so he would not carry out Calesta's plan. But what was he to do? If he carried out his plan now, he would have his vengeance, but Calesta would win and Andrys did not want him to have that satisfaction. Not after being used like a mindless tool, easy to handle because he was too caught up in his own hurts to see what was going on. But what was the alternative? Let the Hunter live? Let him walk away unscathed, after all he had done, just to spite a demon?

He flinched when he saw Gerald Tarrant move. Tensed. Almost pulled the trigger. Then caught himself when all the Hunter did was sway for a moment before steadying himself again.

What had happened to make the bastard look like that, anyway? This wasn't how Andrys had imagined their meeting. He had wanted to force the Hunter to admit his defeat, he had wanted to see despair and fear in those eyes. He had wanted to be the cause for the him to suffer. But something had taken that away, and now Andrys was not sure what to do anymore. It had all been so clear before, when Calesta had been there with his dreams and commands, and the Patriarch with his vision of the Church's triumph. They had both told him what it was going to be like, how sweet his victory over the Forest and the Hunter would be. But this wasn't at all like the images they had painted. His enemy wasn't acting at all like he was supposed to. No begging for his life, no attempts at luring him towards false beliefs. There was desperation in his eyes, together with fear, but it was dulled somehow. As if anything Andrys could do to him wouldn't even begin to compare to what he had gone through already.

But that wasn't what he wanted, was it? _He_ wanted to be the one to bring the Hunter to his knees to finally have vengeance for his family and for himself. _He_ wanted to be the one to triumph over the evil and the fears the bastard stood for. And now someone had taken that from him. This was not the figure from his nightmares, terrifying and malevolent and so calmly inhuman. This was only a man, dirty and aching and weary, and Andrys suddenly found it hard to hold on to the fear. He could see the hint of resignation and despair in that face that was no longer so similar to his, with the twisting scar and the dark smudges of exhaustion underneath the dirt and dust. This wasn't who he had come to kill.

Damn whoever had taken that from him!

Andrys had never wondered whether he would be able to kill the Hunter once he got the chance. It wouldn't be like killing a human being. The Hunter was a demon more than anything else, and demons had to be banished. But this... Whatever had happened, it had stripped him of that demonic hue. If Andrys hadn't known the history of the man standing opposite him, he would have taken him for a human, if only because he'd never seen such a battered demon before.

The Hunter was not looking like the Hunter anymore. And Andrys was not sure he was capable of killing anyone but the monster who had murdered his family. It was still the same man, he tried to reason. The same mind, no matter what the body looked like. But the circumstances had changed completely and now he felt lost. He had imagined this scene over and over again, but he had never thought about the moment when he'd actually kill another being so deliberately. Only about what came before.

"Are you planning to use your springbolt?" the Hunter asked softly.

Andrys was startled, then tensed again, adjusting his aim.

"Because if you are not, you might want to put it down before your arm feels the strain."

_And before your finger slips._ The words went unspoken but still clear.

What would happen to him if he did this? The mere idea that he could have anything to do with the killing of another human had almost driven Andrys out of his mind during the trial of his family's murders. But this was vengeance, it was different... wasn't it? He had wanted to hurt the Hunter, humiliate him. Make him feel every moment of pain Andrys had had to go through. But kill him? That had come only with Calesta. Gerald Tarrant's enemy. Andrys recalled moments of doubt, when he had wondered whether Calesta was only using him or whether the demon's promise of help had been sincere.

"Why were you Calesta's enemy?" he asked. Maybe if he understood this, then Calesta's motives would become clearer, and with that Andrys' decision. At the very least, it would buy him some time before he had to make his choice.

The Hunter silently studied his face, not speaking. Andrys held his gaze, needing to feel this small victory that lay in knowing that this time he was not backing down.

"I was involved in the events that fouled one of his plans," the Hunter said eventually, his voice surprisingly calm for someone who was still looking down the barrel of a springbolt. "In retaliation, he attempted to trick me into betraying my honour, and I had to make certain he would not try it again. After that, things… escalated a little."

"Was that all?" Andrys asked incredulously. "A game of revenge between you and Calesta?"

The Hunter shook his head lightly, his eyes narrowing. "No," he said, his voice icy. "Calesta was going to destroy what I value and what I have created, as I told you. First the Forest, by your hand. Then you, in the service of the Church. And then the Church itself, by forcing humankind down a path it should never take. If you wish to hear the full story, I suggest that you sit down. It may take a while."

Andrys wavered. He didn't need to know these things, not really. Calesta was dead, if the Hunter could be believed, and if he killed him now then it all would not matter anymore. But at the same time Andrys found himself wanting to listen, because each moment he did would also be a moment when he didn't have to decide whether to pull the trigger or not. And maybe it would also make him understand by what twisted logic his demonic ancestor could claim to value him.

"Even if I listen, why should I believe what you say?" he asked, but relaxed his hold on the springbolt a little. The whole situation was becoming too bizarre for quick decisions.

"Because I do not lie," the Hunter snapped, the calmness gone for a moment.

_A Tarrant does not lie_, Andrys remembered the words his father had told him so often. _We never lie._ He was fairly sure he could guess now who had started that tradition.

"You have won," the Hunter said, the tone of his voice even again. Andrys wondered what kind of self control it took to do that. "Calesta is dead. The Forest is dying. And the Hunter…"

This time he asked. "And the Hunter?"

Andrys saw a hint of exhaustion in the silver eyes. "The Hunter died the moment Calesta did."

Anger flared in him. "You are alive! Don't tell me the Hunter is dead when you stand here before me!"

"You don't understand." Exhaustion was giving way to frustration now, and if Andrys had not been so angry at this perceived lie then he would have wondered why he could read those emotions now.

"Well, then explain!"

"There isn't the time for that!" The Hunter was looking away from Andrys now, studying the mess of books and papers on the floor. Searching for something. A weapon? Andrys quickly tightened his hands on the springbolt again and took aim once more, even though he felt the strain in his muscles now that the initial spike of adrenaline was wearing off.

"Stop that!" he ordered when the Hunter moved to pick up something from the floor, hoping that his voice did not sound as shaky as he thought it did. "Or I will shoot!"

The Hunter held still. "You want an explanation?" he demanded. "Then you will have to listen. Are you capable of that, Mer Tarrant?"

Strangely enough, Andrys felt his anger cool down again. The Hunter was willing to explain, and maybe then things would be clearer. He desperately hoped they would be, because in the confusion he felt now he simply couldn't make a decision.

He took a few more steps backwards, safely out of the Hunter's range. Then he relaxed his hold on the springbolt and hoped that the effort it took to do that wasn't too visible.

"I will listen," he said. "And you will tell the truth."

There was a hint of a smile on the Hunter's pale face, almost too quick to be noticed.

"Just so," he said. And began to speak.

The story Andrys heard was impossible to believe. Everybody knew that nobody, and certainly no woman, came out of the Forest alive and sane. Nobody passed through the Canopy and into the Rakhlands and lived to tell of it. And nobody, _nobody_ had ever sailed through the Eastern Gate, past Novatlantis and reached the lands in the east. And even less did they return.

And that was only the beginning of what he was expected to believe. Demons he could understand to some extent; everybody knew enough about them to be aware of the danger they presented and how to fend them off. But the rakh? The last time one of them had been seen had been centuries ago, and now he was supposed to believe that not only had the Hunter and his companions met them, but one had even travelled with him?

And the companions were another issue. An adept who had been drained of her memories? Hard to believe that such a thing was possible, and that someone would think of doing it. The sorcerer who had followed her was easy to understand in comparison, even though the Hunter did not spend a lot of words on him. But the one who confused Andrys the most was the priest.

Why would a man of the Church travel with the Hunter voluntarily? Andrys was by far no expert on the Church, but as a Tarrant he knew enough of the basic philosophy. Sorcery was considered evil, as were demons. So the Hunter would be damned twice, and that was not even considering that he was the fallen Prophet. And Andrys was supposed to believe that a priest could come to disregard that? That he would stay even one moment longer than absolutely necessary?

But he had seen the man and how reluctant he had been to leave the Hunter's side. If Andrys hadn't known that such a thing was impossible between a priest and the Hunter, he would have thought that he had seen a friendship.

Another impossible thing. Together with the civilization in the east, the insane undying adepts, the Iezu and their mother.

He was aware that he was being watched, and he knew that the disbelief on his face was being well noted. Right now he didn't care about that. He had asked for the truth, and as hard to believe as it was, Andrys felt that he had gotten it. And all it had done was increase his confusion tenfold.

Taking a slow breath, he tried to think logically, as absurd as that seemed in this situation. What did it all come down to? That Calesta had used him, and that the demon was now dead. Andrys had known that before, no matter how little he liked it. What mattered more was that he now had a reason to let the Hunter live.

Not the Hunter, he realized as he looked at the other man. The Hunter had died; he was beginning to understand that now. The chance for revenge was definitely gone. And Andrys found that he was strangely glad that he did not have to execute his plans. Now he would not have to face his own ability – or inability – to injure another man outside of his dreams. Not when this killing, justified as it would have been, would affect mankind.

That Erna's people would ever return to the stars was more a fairy tale than anything else, in Andrys' mind. Little children were told about it, and there were always some idealists who spent their life wondering how to make their dream come true, and who then quietly failed at their task. But now there was an opportunity to actually achieve this, and it was his choice whether to seize it or let it pass. Surely there had to be others who were capable of performing that task… Gerald Tarrant could not be the only one who had ever studied the Iezu.

But the man certainly thought that he was, or he wouldn't have come back here. It was no secret that the Church moved against the Forest, and Andrys was certain that Gerald Tarrant had known exactly when he had lost control of his domain. And yet he had come, just to save books.

Either he really was the only one able to work out a way of communication with the Iezu, or he had lost his mind. Andrys wasn't sure which possibility he preferred.

"So all the necessary knowledge is in here?" he asked, curious against his will.

Gerald Tarrant glanced down at the mess of books and paper on the floor. To Andrys he looked tired. "Everything I ever wrote down on the topic is," he said. "Whether it is all that is necessary… But it is a starting point."

"And you want me to let you go so you can do this."

"Can you blame me? Survival is a habit that is hard to break after so many years."

"The books could be given to someone else," Andrys pointed out, carefully avoiding the question of whether Gerald Tarrant had any right to continue to live, no matter how much he wanted to.

"And who will be able to make sense of all this? Five hundred years of study? I don't know of any demonologist who ever made an effort that compares to mine. Most have not even heard of Iezu before, let alone spoken with one unless they thought they were talking to a god." Gerald Tarrant shook his head determinedly. "No. Would you let someone breed your horses who only knows of them from a few mentions in a book?"

Andrys almost countered that he was not in the least interested in horses and so their breeding hardly mattered to him, but he refrained from doing that. His restraint surprised him a little – not that he hadn't said anything, that wasn't so strange, but that he had stayed silent because he could tell that Gerald Tarrant would lose his patience otherwise. Only because of that, and not because he was afraid of what would happen then. It would be an inconvenience, that was all. He wondered where his fear had gone.

"Vryce could do it."

This time the Hunter did smile. "I would not burden him with that," he said. "He has already taken on the task of saving my soul, that should be enough."

"Rather unlikely to achieve."

"It is, if you shoot me now and waste all his efforts."

That brought Andrys' awareness back to the reason why they were here.

"I swore to kill the Hunter," he whispered.

_You killed my family,_ he wanted to add. _Samiel, Betrise, Imelia. Mark. Dianna, Abechar. So many others._

Tensing again, Gerald Tarrant watched him carefully. "Then you came in vain," he said.

Andrys nodded slowly. "But if the Hunter is dead, then who are you? The Neocount of Merentha? The Prophet? Gerald Tarrant? Why should any of them live?"

Again he thought he saw the hint of a smile on the pale face. "Damned from every side, am I not? You want the Hunter dead. That has happened already, when my compact was broken. The Prophet has been dead to the Church for nine centuries now."

"And the Neocount?" The title brought back the memory of standing in the middle of the bloodbath while that icy voice spoke to him. "You are still that. You killed my family for that. Because Samiel took the title."

Gerald Tarrant nodded. "Just so," he said calmly.

The easy admittance was startling.

"Then I can't let you go." He could hand him over to the Patriarch, could let the Church decide the man's fate. Not that there was any question what that decision would be. They wouldn't be on a crusade against the Hunter's Forest and then let him live, even as a captive.

"Of course not."

Andrys narrowed his eyes. He could tell that something was going on, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

"You need to prove that you have avenged your family and that you put an end to the Hunter," Gerald Tarrant said, still sounding as calm as though he were discussing evening entertainments. "There is an army outside these doors, and they expect it of you. And I have a task I intend to finish, which needs time. So I propose a compromise, Mer Tarrant."

"A compromise?" Andrys asked, hating how shaky his voice sounded. "I need your death, and you want your life! How can there be a compromise?"

"You need the death of certain aspects of myself. You said you came to kill the Hunter, and you also want the death of the first Neocount of Merentha."

"That still leaves you dead!" There had to be a catch somewhere. He just couldn't see it yet.

There was a hint of impatience in the silver eyes. "I was made Neocount by King Gannon, the Church proclaimed me their Prophet, and I crafted the Hunter according to my needs. Aspects, Mer Tarrant. Layers to a personality, and they can be stripped away. Sacrificed."

That last word held a hidden significance, the way it was spoken.

"So you will stop being yourself?"

"I will be _only_ myself. Not the Hunter, not the Prophet, not the Neocount. Not something I look forward to, but I believe that might satisfy both our needs."

Andrys considered this. In a way, it would be enough. He had never really thought of Gerald Tarrant as the Hunter or even as the first Neocount. The Neocount and the Hunter, those were the same. So if they could be eliminated, anything - anyone - that remained wasn't who Andrys had come for. It might just be acceptable, if it weren't so completely impossible.

"How can I know that you won't just give up the names?" he asked. "If you are still the Hunter inside..."

Gerald Tarrant shook his head. "As I said, it would have to be a sacrifice. You will need proof that you have achieved your purpose, and once you have that, I can hardly continue to look like this. Too many would look at me and draw their conclusions now that it is known you were chosen for this task because you are so close to me in appearance."

Andrys simply waited, wondering whether this would ever become less confusing.

"The nature of the fae has changed. It only responds to one kind of sacrifice now - sacrifice of self. And sacrificing the parts of myself that form the aspects you wish to eliminate would create enough power to take care of these details."

Gerald Tarrant paused, and Andrys could see him blink rapidly and then take a deep breath. He wondered how the man was going to do any Workings if he looked ready to fall over any moment.

"It would have to be a sacrifice that comes from the soul, otherwise the fae it draws would not be enough. Death of these aspects... and any attempt to resurrect them, deliberate or not, would mean joining them in death. Not to mention that the fae that was bound by the sacrifice in the first place would not continue to support me any longer." Gerald Tarrant looked at him, certainly aware that Andrys had his doubts about it all. "Twice bound, Mer Tarrant. I have no wish to die, so it will be in my own interest not to become the Hunter again."

"So what is it you intend? Shapeshift? And then give me a… a simulacrum of yourself I can present?"

"Essentially that is correct. I will also need to do a Locating to find all the relevant books and notes. And wards for my journey through the Forest."

Andrys could only shake his head. "It won't work."

"Let that be my concern," Gerald Tarrant said sharply. "I have held on to my title for nine hundred years. I killed for it, my own offspring. If I were to give it up now, let it pass on... It would mean sacrificing a part of myself. And there is power in that now. Enough to do this."

"And what if it isn't?"

"Then the attempt will have killed me. You have nothing to lose, Mer Tarrant."

It was insane. That was the only word Andrys could think of, and he wasn't sure why it seemed like the right thing to do. It was true that he couldn't lose; either his enemy would die, or he would be transformed beyond all recognition, stripped of his power.

_Either I let him try, or I kill him._ And that, Andrys realized, wasn't something he could do. He could not take a life. Not when all those other deaths tormented him so.

"I want your word that you will never approach me or anyone close to me," he said. "And that you will not take another human life."

"As you wish," Gerald Tarrant whispered.

He wouldn't have to kill. And the murderer of his family would be gone. Andrys felt elated, almost giddy at this realization. He wasn't sure whether he had won, but he knew that at least he hadn't lost against Calesta, and that he would be able to go back outside and assure all the waiting men and women that the Hunter was gone. Maybe he would even be able to sleep again without nightmares. Even a fresh start at life, with Narilka at his side, didn't seem so impossible anymore.

Time seemed to pass in a blur. He watched as Gerald Tarrant Worked, and for the first time in his life Andrys saw what the fae could really do if used by a master. It was an amazing sight, and he wondered for a moment whether that ability was also part of his heritage. Then he realized that it did not matter anymore, not with the new rules governing the fae. To give away part of himself to touch the fae… It was not a price Andrys was willing to pay. There was little enough left of him as it was. He'd have to define himself anew after this, find out who he really was and where he would go from here.

When it was over and he looked at the face of Gerald Tarrant, so completely unknown to him now, he dared believe that the nightmare he'd been living in for years now might come to an end. And when he stepped out into the courtyard, the Hunter's head gripped by bloodied fingers, he heard the whispers of the soldiers around him. He struggled not to look at the thing in his hand, even if it now looked far less terrifying than before. Silence fell as he held up this trophy, and when he looked at the faces around him he saw respect in them, for the first time since they had embarked on their crusade.

A trickle of blood flowed from the severed head down along his wrist, making him shiver. He focused on the pyre before him, and he thought of what was going on in that study deep down inside the keep. Gerald Tarrant had almost finished packing the books by the time Andrys had worked up enough resolve to behead the body the Adept had created. It hadn't helped to know that what looked like the Hunter now had been a real person, someone who had been left dead by the Hunter's servant in the hallway just before the study. The memory of that half-rotten face came back unbidden, making him gag.

He threw the head onto the pyre, stared at it for a moment.

When he looked up again, he saw the priest across the fire. And by the grief on Damien Vryce's face, Andrys knew that the Hunter was truly gone now, and that it was all over.


End file.
